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“When you’re ready then. I have it written down. Maybe I can mail it and you can open it when you want to? How about that?”
I didn’t answer. I had nothing good to say right now.
She murmured, “If I send it, you need to promise not to throw it away or tear it up. I want that promise right now.”
I was still silent. Nothing good to say, nothing at all. I kept my mouth shut.
She sighed. “You’d be doing it for me. I brought her into this world, and I couldn’t help her. You think about that? I’ve got one gone that I couldn’t save, another with storms tearing himself up, and another that’s a beacon of joy though she was hurt the most. You promising not to throw away or tear up this message would go a long way for appeasing your mother’s guilt. When you hurt, I hurt.”
“Jesus, Mom.”
“Don’t swear.”
Her reply was so automatic and instant. It was reflex. I had to grin at that. “Yeah. Send it. I promise to keep it. I won’t promise to read it, but I won’t destroy it.”
“All I need, honey. I love you so much. You know that, right? Titi too.”
“Titi the mostest.”
She laughed. “The mostest of the hostess. We’ll call later in the week. Titi is going to Skate World so we should have some good pictures for you. Maybe we can video call you when we’re there.”
“I’d like that. I’ll clear it with Coach if I’m at practice.”
We ended the call, but I took a moment. The ocean was in front of me, but I wasn’t seeing it. I was back there, with my mom, knowing she was probably going over to hug Titi right about now. Titi, man. She was the best of all of us.
And Sarah hurt her.
38
MARA
Cruz came back, dropping down to lay back on the blanket. The air around him felt different. He rolled his head, looking up to the sky. His one knee went up, his other leg extended out. “How long are you going to do this friends with no benefits stuff?” He flashed me a wolfish grin. “Because, gotta say, I’m missing the fuck out of you. Pun intended.”
And just like that, my body was an inferno.
I scowled at him, moving away, though my body wanted to do the opposite. “Dude.”
“God. Don’t ‘dude’ me. Barclay dudes me. Atwater dudes me. My teammates, yes. My brothers, but not you. I’m not a ‘dude’ to you.” He got quiet. “I’d like to be your man. That’s what I’d like to be.”
My gaze shot back to him, and my tongue got heavy. Real heavy.
My heart started pounding.
A whole different feeling slammed into me. Yearning. A desperation. I wanted that too, and my mouth opened.
I was leaning toward him—“Please tell me we’re in time to see live porn.”
The voice was abrupt, jarring, and not wanted.
I blinked, dazed, still in the trance Cruz’s statement brought over me. It took another second before it clicked who was heading our way.
Cruz stood up, his own scowl in place. “Shut the fuck up, Carrington. Keep it moving.”
“What’s your problem, Styles?”
My stomach fell, as I stood.
“Angela. What are you doing with them?”
Flynn Carrington was here, and he wasn’t alone. Angela, Wade’s Angela, was with them, along with three more guys. Flynn was wasted. Stumbling. His hair was all messed. His eyes were dilated, and enlarged, and his clothes were in disarray. His shirt was wrinkled, a corner torn off. His board shorts were dirtied with grass stains, and he was swinging around a bourbon bottle that still had a third left to go.
He stopped, his body swaying forward, and he held up his hands, the liquor swishing around in the bottle from the motion. “She’s with us. We’re hanging out. Having fun. What, Styles? You think you’re too good for us? You think you’re too good to hang out with us.” His eyes got mean and narrowed. They slid to me. “I was serious about the public porn.”
I didn’t look at Cruz, but I felt him.
Carrington’s friends also took notice of him, moving back an inch.
I held my breath.
A whole new stillness came over Cruz, his eyes were locked on the target. Every inch of him was rigid and alert. He was primed, seeing his prey stumbling around in front of him. Waves of danger were rolling off him. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I was tempted to take a step back myself.
“You wanna rethink what you just said, you piece of privileged frat brother shit?”
Cruz wasn’t wasting time.
Flynn blinked, that mean look just doubling. He whipped his bottle at Cruz, who stepped aside. It hit the rocks behind us. Flynn’s head bobbed back before he spat out at the same time, starting for us, his arm raised, “No. Fuck you, Styles! You’re nothing, but a–”
